Making the decision to return to college last
year was monumental for me, but that was the easy part. It was going to be even more of an effort to
get out of my house and drag this body to a campus where I would be out of my
comfort zone in many ways. This new
adventure would require me to become more organized than before, to submit my
life experiences to those instructors who would likely be younger than me in
order to learn what they had to share, much of which I have learned in life
through experience. I would be sitting among
young people who were the same age as my children, and learning how to utilize
the latest technological devices, from submitting assignments online or doing
homework online. There were just some of
the few differences that I would be experiencing today than those I experienced
when first attending college 37 years ago.
After completing
my first semester, though, it was not quite as traumatic as I thought it would
be, and by the time I had a couple of semesters under my belt, I began to have
a good idea of what to expect at the beginning of the semester and at the end
as well.
Through it all, today
I now find amusing to reflect back on the first day of class and of that which
I was anxious. The moments leading up to
2:00 p.m. on that first Monday of the semester were a little stressful because
of my own uncertainty, but I found that I was not alone and for good
reason. The first day of class is
usually the day where every chair is filled, surrounded by students lining up
the walls in a standing-room-only situation, as students try to add on a class
for which they should have signed up for months earlier. It is a moment of high anxiety for those lucky
few who covet that little paper that is bestowed upon them by the instructor,
allowing them the permission to grace the doorway twice a week for about
eighteen weeks, and receive the pearls of wisdom imparted by their teacher in
the hopes of transforming them into great students and, ultimately, fine productive
citizens of their communities.
For these anxious
few, the add-on slip is like the golden ticket that young Charlie Bucket sought
for coveted tour of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Once the papers are handed down to the lucky
few who are standing around, little do they know that they would now have the
opportunity to learn from the great mind of Ms. Steele Smith over the next
eighteen weeks! However, like everything
else, they would need to participate according to rules of the class which,
like in the chocolate factory, were rather simple to follow.
Although the story
line does not emphasize it, one can ascertain that the rules at the Wonka
Chocolate Factory were simple: Show up
on time, listen to Mr. Wonka and do all that is required by Mr. Wonka, and do
not touch anything that was not supposed to be touched. For the English 1A class in room LA-106, the
rules were equally simple: Show up daily and on time, listen to Ms. Steele
Smith and do all that is required by Ms. Steele Smith, although we did not have
to worry about refraining from touching anything (or anyone) that should not be
touched.
For me, like the
others who had the privilege of planning ahead by having a preferable
registration time period, the anxiety began with the uncertainty of how Ms.
Steele Smith was going to instruct us. I
knew very little about her; thus, questions loomed: Will she be a right-wing conservative to the
right of Rush Limbaugh, or a left-wing liberal to the left of Rachel
Maddow? Will she be warm as a
fresh-baked apple pie, or be as cold as the diabetic foot of a person who ate
too much of that pie? Will she be objective
or will she be subjective?
Many of those and
other questions (including why the classroom was so hot) clouded my thinking as
I made my way to class that first day, but mostly wondering if (due to my size)
if there would be a desk that sat about ten inches higher than the standard
desk with a disability glyph affixed to it.
To my relief, there was one available, but it was already claimed by a
healthy-appearing young man. I took what
authority I had to lay claim to the desk and kindly asked him to move. On what basis did I have the authority? It was over a hundred degrees outside and I
was sweating like a race horse, having walked across campus to make it on time,
giving him the impression that I was going to collapse on top of him. By virtue of that glyph on that desk, Ms.
Steele Smith made it tolerable for me by organizing workshop groups around me
so I did not have to struggle to fit myself in one of the many 1970’s styles
desk that were built for people who attended before the Great Obesity Epidemic
of the late 20th century, which continues on through the 2010’s.
I sat down (comfortably,
I might add) and looked toward the front of the room and saw Ms. Steele Smith,
already greeting the class with a smile on her face that made me realize that
she would not be like that cold diabetic foot I mentioned earlier. In fact, she had a disposition that sent me
into a state of relief, knowing that I would not be dealing with a crazy
instructor, although I wondered for a second when she claimed to be an old
hippie who did not have a problem using the “S” and the “F” words on occasion, along
with having clear views of what she believed to the way things ought to be.
Nevertheless, it
was very clear that she was truly in her element as she discussed the topic of English,
which was the literature itself, the meanings behind the story, the personality
of the writer and how it transcended through their writing, the technical
things required when analyzing these writers, and knowing how to convey it to
our audience when composing our analyses.
Subjects such as Aristotelian
Triad (or rhetorical triangle) that discussed the balanced of persuasive
elements, which were the logos, pathos, and ethos components, were covered along
with understanding the need for citing sources and utilizing the proper
formatting style (in this case, MLA formatting, which is the style that we use
for writing papers). Inline citations
and proper setting of the works cited page were important to my instructor, as
her desire for us to learn this correctly was tantamount in our becoming good
writers for our college experience. Other
areas of technical knowledge required were subjects such as reading prompts,
contextual analysis, critical analysis, prospectuses, and author’s notes, and
as we got deeper into the semester, having learned much of the technical subjects,
we began to examine our two novels.
I became more
aware of the black experience through Zora Hurston and her writing Their Eyes Were Watching God, once again
learning how gifted many African-Americans were in the early 20th
century and how for many years, the young people of this country were not able
to sit down and read a great novel of a young black woman coming of age in a
time when there was little to no hope for people of color. Through this writing, I learned that there
was nothing that a writer includes in their writings without purpose, and that
it tends to make a statement of social issues that exist at the time of these
writings. I wish I knew Zora myself
because she had a kindred spirit that came out in her work, someone who exhibited
an understanding of overcoming so much and yet having passion in encouraging
others to overcome.
I learned about the
quiet strength of women through the writings of Mary Shelley in her novel “Frankenstein,” which illustrated the
difference between male and female privilege in the era when she wrote her
novel, and how the entitlement to young men in that time had its consequences; not
in the novel, but in real life. Again,
understanding that nothing is written without a specific purpose in mind, the
book was an accurate reflection of what still goes on today in the mindset of
many young people who have their problems solved for them by their parents, and
how it affects the esteem needs of those young people, if not dealt with
appropriately. I did not identify as well
with Shelly, mainly due to the privilege that she was born into, which I cannot
relate to myself, but what people fail to understand about those in privilege
is that they are able to look at social issues in a less restrictive manner, not
having to worry about the day-to-day things that the “common person” deals with
(such as paying the electricity bill and worry about having enough money). This freedom does allow for creativity to
flow, and for that reason, she changed the literary world and created a new
genre of literature that writers are still publishing today.
From this class, I
was able to see that I was doing quite well with my writing skills, having
developed my own skills over the course of thirty years working as writer in
the medical field in spite of any formal training. I drafted and published documents that
required much care in detailed technical and clinical knowledge, while maintaining
medical and legal boundaries that were required. But one is only as good as they think they
are, and to regard myself as one who needs no additional education would be
rather arrogant. In my experience, I
have learned that I become smarter when I realize how stupid I really am.
Regardless of my intelligence
or stupidity or experience, my time in this class was a great investment in
understanding not only what I’m reading but how to compose my analyses in order
to achieve the persuasive results I’m looking for when reaching out to my
audience. There is always room to learn
something new, and this class enabled me to do so.
I end this
semester looking back with a smile wondering why I was so anxious on the first
day, perhaps like the others looking for their version of that golden
ticket. Through our workshops, the other
students and I were able to get to know one another better, and I have made
good friendships with more students in that class than I have in any other
class. Sometimes our workshops were
spent talking about each other and what we were doing (instead of critiquing
the essays at times) but even when we critiqued, we had fun (one person got
ribbed for writing the words “pea tree dish” for “petri dish” and “burned at
the steak” for “burned at the stake,” and that became the running gag for the
remaining part of the semester. Humor
helps us to remember our errors though, and we all had a few zingers to help us
remember.
On this last day, I
realize that I have my own golden ticket in hand, having had the opportunity to
learn how the world can be a better place through literature, knowing that I am
a better person with new friends for having taken this class, and understanding
that an excellent teacher makes all the difference in creating the best
learning environment possible. For
that, I am truly blessed.
